Portrait of a Lady
by wreckofherheart
Summary: She has always admired her from afar. [Olivier/Riza; implied Royai]


**.**

**.**

**.**

**author's note**: This oneshot begins during the Ishval War, and gradually progresses throughout the series. Thank you for reading if you do!

**.**

**.**

**.**

**I.**

The war.

The massacre.

The Devil's Kingdom.

And she is one of His many angels.

When it's the hundredth day, she's lost her smile, and her father's face no longer haunts her. She salutes, she marches, she kills. They grin at her terribly appropriate name.

Hawkeye.

**II.**

Fort Briggs is a monster.

Its Queen makes its walls shudder with every step. Riza Hawkeye has heard of her before, and has always admired her from afar. Major General Armstrong. The first female commanding officer of her time. The first woman to ever wield a blade and slaughter without a grimace. The men, so afraid and threatened by her sex, either blush or glance away whenever she's present.

There is no love in her eyes. No affection, and no warmth.

She's been in millions of war, most having been amongst her own supposed allies. Death is now a friend.

Major General Armstrong notices Riza instantly. It's an honour any military soldier begs for. But Riza is not one to beg. Even so, she salutes and clicks her heels together when Armstrong approaches. She's not as tall as they say, but it's not her height which is petrifying. Her hair is a wild mane, blue eyes a raging storm which can make any man cower, and her voice is strong. Her voice is blunt, powerful and effortlessly reigns with authority and a thrilling dominance.

They whisper about her, and they whisper about the "dusky" Ishvalan who follows her everywhere.

They frown and detest.

She's utterly immune to their criticisms.

'I hear you were finally promoted.'

Riza is startled. Apparently Major General Armstrong knows about her. Has her commanding officer, Roy Mustang, spread word about his lieutenant? His _first_ lieutenant. She's quite flattered and nods her head. 'Yes, ma'am.'

The chill nips at her flesh. Riza swallows and waits. The Major General cocks her head back slightly, and her plump lips remain sealed, eyes frozen. 'Hm.' She turns, and her hair flows down her back. 'Very well.' Riza doesn't move until the Major General is gone.

**III.**

A couple of months later, Riza Hawkeye is temporarily reassigned to Fort Briggs. Roy is reluctant to see her go, but it'll be a worthwhile experience.

On her first day, she catches frostbite on her left ear. The nurse patches her up, but sympathy is minimal, not that Riza desires any. The Major General doesn't show. The Ishvalan, Miles, orders her to patrol the roof. Compared to his commanding officer, he has a gentle voice. It doesn't suit his face, she thinks, but he's the only soldier who acknowledges her presence. So she's quiet and obeys.

Briggs soldiers are fierce beasts, and they are all men. Riza refuses to feel intimidated. She's petite and has unfortunately been gifted with sensitive eyes.

Yet their Queen is, indeed, a _woman_. A woman who is unashamed of her sex, of her appearance. She uses her femininity as a weapon and the men worship her. Yes, they don't acknowledge Riza, but not because of her sex. They don't acknowledge her because she is a mutt. Central dogs are scowled at in the North. They are considered weak in comparison, they know nothing about strength and what it means to be a _real_ soldier.

By the end of her first week, Roy sends flowers.

It's a sweet gesture, but extremely insulting.

Flowers for a lady. Some of the Bears scoff. They're disappointed, and they find it hilarious.

The Major General finally shows herself. She's been away on business, information Riza is not privy to. Riza's heart skips a beat when the Major General passes her within the stone hallway. Riza stands to the side, and salutes, but is ignored. She wonders if the flowers have disappointed the Major General as well, if she expected better from a woman like Riza.

She later learns the Major General cares little for flowers.

A mere salute is unnecessary in such a cruel environment.

**IV.**

Drachma attack.

The Fort is impenetrable, and the Bears are merciless. Riza struggles to catch her breath. The cold has stolen her oxygen, and the men are too big for her to move past. A bomb strikes the wall. Brick crumples and lands heavily into the snow. Riza grips her rifle, and ducks a little, managing to slip through the tiny gaps between the large soldiers. One of them is yelling at the top of his voice, and he's grinning wide. They're all menaces, and loving the bloodbath they create below.

Riza is disturbed.

The war flashes in her mind, and she remembers the blood, remembers the screams of Ishvalan babies, of mothers protecting their children.

She remembers the smell of burning flesh, and the dancing fires of The Alchemist.

Her first shot breaks the skull of a Drachman officer.

Her next pierces the eye of another.

Her third catches the army's commander. He's young, she realises; far too young. He's frustrated because his attack has failed tremendously. He hasn't trained his army enough to fight against Briggs. It is territory no man can claim for himself. Riza whispers a silent prayer to a God she has no faith in, and fires.

The battle collapses.

Drachman soldiers retreat. Riza's hands shake, and she continues to shoot.

She tears apart the back of their heads. They scream out into the scarlet land, and fall to their knees. One soldier desperately turns around, and holds up his hands in surrender. Riza can see nothing, can hear nothing, and her finger squeezes the trigger.

Fear rattles through her body, and she's uncontrollable.

She's ruined.

The war echoes in her pounding mind.

The wails and colour of corpses cloud her vision. Riza shoots again, and another Drachman soldier falls. A heavy hand grabs her by her coat, and pulls her to her feet. Riza struggles. No. _No_. She is not finished yet. _They_ attacked. Therefore, _they must pay_. And she'll be damned if she ever lets the _enemy_ go again. Those Amestrian warriors, painted with halos, oh _God_, they are anything _but_ warriors. They are monsters, ugly gargoyles who have killed like mad saints.

How–– _Why_ has it taken her this long to realise she is _one of them_?

'Let her go.'

A woman's calm, deep voice rings through the thin air. Riza catches her breath, and the Briggs soldier releases her. The Major General steps over, takes Riza's rifle from her.

'This way, Hawkeye.'

The battle is over. Riza doesn't dare peer over her shoulder to admire the damage she's caused.

This time, the Bears move aside to let her past. The Major General waits for her at the door, and then escorts her down the steps from the rooftop, through several cold, dark hallways and into her office. It's as cold as the rest of the Fort. Riza shudders as she steps inside.

The Major General carefully places the rifle onto her desk, in Riza's line of vision. She then faces her, one hand on her hip, and her eyes are cruel.

Riza waits for the dismissal, for the Major General to lose her temper.

She'll be sent back to Central City in shame.

'I assigned you under my command for a reason.' The Major General pauses. 'I had a hunch. To my displeasure, it seems my hunch was correct.' Riza is now holding herself, arms around her waist. 'During your months as a recruit, you must have been warned about the disabilities soldiers develop when at war.'

'D––Disabilities?'

'It's a vulgar way of putting it. Shell shock is one name given to the diagnosis.'

Riza exhales slowly through her nose. 'Do you think I have shell shock, ma'am?'

'You express clear symptoms of it, Hawkeye. I was concerned Mustang would not be able to see through his affections for you. He holds you too dear to see that you are suffering, as are many soldiers who fought in the Ishvalan War.' The Major General takes a step closer. 'I care little for the men who signed themselves up to fight. It is their sacrifice. They agreed to torture their minds, and to kill out of greed.'

Riza lowers her gaze, and feels as if she's being blamed. Of course, she's upset Major General Armstrong views her in such a way. At the time, Riza believed she was doing what was right. Every other soldier thought the same. They had no choice. _They had no choice_. Can Major General Armstrong, so smart and brilliant at what she does, truly believe the Amestrian soldiers are to blame for their own sufferings?

'I care for _you_, however. It's not everyday I see a woman out on the field. It's certainly a refreshing sight.'

'Thank you, ma'am.'

'That is why I cannot allow your mind to destroy you, Hawkeye. You show great potential. Your use of firearms is remarkable. Here, at Briggs, we could certainly use someone of your excellent calibre. With the necessarily discipline and treatment, you'll be back to full health in no time. It's not sympathy or pity you need, Hawkeye. It's confidence, and keen encouragement. You do not lack wit, so you will not fail. I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't believe so.'

It's all too much.

All of this.

Riza isn't sure what to say. She cannot leave Roy, her closest friend. She promised to follow him wherever he goes, even into death. It is a pledge she simply cannot break. And, she knows, for a fact, Roy is suffering too. That his shell shock is considerably worse than hers. That he cannot sleep at night, and spends most of his waking hours drinking.

It's unlikely Major General Armstrong will understand.

After all, she views Roy as a hinderance. She views Riza as _more_.

'I––' She's still shaken, still in slight shock, but she controls her voice. 'I am deeply honoured, ma'am.' It isn't a lie, but, 'I have to refuse, though. Colonel Mustang is whom I promised to follow. I cannot break that promise. It would be unforgivable of me.'

'Then what will you do if you repeat what happened on the roof? You need a stable mind to guide you.'

'I will guide myself.'

'Your stubbornness is almost admirable. But you are a fool to watch that man's back. Roy Mustang will not help you reach your potential.'

'I know.'

Riza isn't _stupid_. She knows, of course.

'However, it wasn't the promotions I sought when I joined the military.'

The Major General loses interest. She turns to her desk where a small pile of paperwork awaits. 'You're dismissed, Hawkeye. Major Miles will meet you on the roof.'

Riza is stunned momentarily. She wants the Major General to change her mind, to realise Riza is speaking some sense, but even Riza considers that an impossible fantasy. The Major General will inevitably lose respect for her, and she will crumble with Roy alongside her. Yet it is the path she wishes to choose. She will not abandon him, like he will not abandon her.

But he isn't a mentor. He isn't a teacher. He isn't a man she would look up to.

The only person she has ever admired, ever felt entirely safe around, is the woman before her. Riza clicks her heels together, and salutes. She turns sharply, and leaves the office.

**V.**

Roy Mustang awakes some nights crying.

One morning, he arrives to work and his breath smells of whiskey. Riza gives him some tea and some water. He doesn't drink any of it and pretends to stay focussed.

When she returned from Briggs, he was excited to know what she learnt. Riza kept her story brief and avoided the discussion she had with the Major General. It would be pointless to hurt Roy, to make him worry she may leave him for the Major General instead.

It's in the late evening when some Briggs soldiers come to Central City. The Führer has requested their presence.

A meeting is held at headquarters, and it lasts a couple of hours. Riza stays behind at the office to finish her reports, and to also rewrite some of Roy's –– his handwriting has grown lousy. The lamp is the only light she has, and for a long while she believes she is alone until she hears a knock at the door.

The Major General's coat is slung over her right arm. Her blade is neatly sheathed, balanced against her thigh. 'I apologise for disturbing you, Hawkeye.'

'No. No, it's fine.' Riza stands, and is about to salute, but the Major General stops her.

'Please don't.' She glances at Roy's empty desk. 'Where is your commanding officer?'

'He has retired for the day.'

'And he has left his adjutant to finish his work?'

'Oh. Oh, it's nothing. Really.'

The Major General is unconvinced. 'Hawkeye, it is 2305. You are not fit for work if you lack sleep. Your attention won't be as sharp, and you won't be as competent as you should be.'

'Y––Yes, I'm sorry.' Riza hurriedly files away the unfinished paperwork.

'I will repeat my question: _where_ is your commanding officer?'

Riza halts.

She realises just _what_ the Major General is asking, and it _angers_ her. The Major General is asking about his health, she wants his lieutenant to betray him. She wants Riza to confess that he is actually drinking himself silly, that he'll probably wake up the following morning in a stranger's bed, and return to the office still intoxicated. She wants Roy Mustang to lose his job.

'That is no concern of yours.'

'I beg your pardon?'

It's too late to back down now. Riza swallows, and straightens, looking the Major General in the eye. 'Colonel Mustang's whereabouts are not of your concern. They are of mine, and they always have been.' Her lower lip quivers, and she speaks again, voice breaking, 'Please don't ask about Colonel Mustang again. I know what you're trying to do.'

'You defend him, which clearly shows how blind you are. You and he may be close, but his health is a risk to us all.'

'He will heal.'

'You silly girl. That man will not heal. He refuses to help himself. He allows his mind to torment him daily, and you wait for him to lick his wounds.'

'Major General, I––'

'And you should know better than to _dare_ answer back at your superior officer.' She closes the door behind her, and walks to where Riza stands. Riza buckles, but doesn't look away. She can't let the Major General win, but, of course, she is winning. Riza has nothing against her. She knows she's in the wrong, but betraying Roy is out of the question. 'Do you forget who he is supposed to be, Hawkeye? He is a protector of your country. He will be useless to us if a war ever breaks out. His Alchemy has already gone to waste. If we're lucky, he'll die drowning in his own vomit, but this does not erase the fact he is currently a _hazard_.'

'You weren't there.'

Riza's voice shatters with grief. She can't _listen_ to this woman criticise her dear friend anymore. Riza inhales shakily, and tries to maintain her composure, but why bother? She has already collapsed before this brilliant woman. Oh, what has she become? She's a state. A disaster.

'You did not fight,' Riza clenches her teeth. 'You weren't there during the war,' she whispers softly, closing her eyes and looking away. She knows she has lost all respect, she has lost every opportunity waiting for her. Major General Armstrong _was_ her opportunity, and she's throwing her away for a man. Riza wonders if her mother would feel ashamed. 'But we were. You didn't see those horrible deaths, those poor children. All of those _people_ who died. I lost count of how many I killed. I killed so many. I'm just as horrid as the rest of them, but we were still there and you weren't.'

Now her body is turning against her. She holds back a cry. She clenches her fists, fights against the shame, guilt and anger possessing her fragile form. She lets the Major General watch her, watch her crumble away, watch her wither into a pitiful creature.

Useless. Absolutely useless.

'He will heal. You have to let him heal.'

Riza doesn't beg.

And, yet, she would collapse to the Major General's feet and cling to her if she has to; _beg_ she give Roy Mustang one more chance. Let him live, let him follow his dream. Let him _live_, damn it.

Don't take his glory away.

'He is fortunate to have you.'

The Major General's voice is flat; it lacks emotion. It has _no_ emotion. Riza is terrified. She is terrified she has ruined everything. The Major General can have her executed with just a click of her fingers. She can destroy Riza with a flick of her wrist. She is powerful, she is Queen, and she rules over every single mutt which crawls these hallways. She is merciless, and she is everything Riza wishes she had the strength to be.

But, instead, she is a torn angel. Who flies so high up to the sun; too high, too close, and allows it to burn her alive.

She'll come tumbling to the ground, robed in flames.

Nobody to catch her.

'You shouldn't lower your gaze when you challenge someone, Hawkeye.'

Riza tries to raise her head, tries to look at her, and to her surprise, she succeeds. She holds her breath. The Major General's eyes still cast a storm, but the storm has relaxed some, if only for a moment. There's mercy in her eyes, and her fingertips are warm as she wipes away a tear. A tear which went completely unnoticed by its subject. Riza shudders. Feels tempted to apologise, but she holds her ground, and it's good enough. She holds her ground and it's what the Major General expects from her.

'I can see why he holds you in such high regard.'

Riza can't find her voice. She tackles the adrenaline rushing through her, but she's too scared her voice might break and she'll cry.

Gods, if she cries, she'll never forgive herself.

Riza _won't_ cry.

'Fine. I leave him in your hands.' A beat. 'That won't be easy for you.'

No, it won't, but Riza _knows_ he'll heal. Roy has to pull through, and she will pull through with him. Riza unclenches her fists, and the tension in her shoulders relax. She manages to speak, but it's only a whisper, plagued by the many months of agony in the bloody sands of Ishval.

'Thank you.'

**VI.**

Five years pass until she meets her again.

Father has perished, and the Fullmetal Alchemist has returned home with his brother. And, as Riza promised, Roy Mustang has become a sane man in the most absurd way. Losing his sight, being punished for a sin he didn't perform, has changed him.

His goal is no longer to be seated at the throne, but to restore the land he burned.

Riza has to smile at his courage. He will be met with hostility, with disgrace and harsh tongues. But he will see it through to the end, and his trusted lieutenant will walk beside him.

She loves him for his recovery. His wonderful imagination.

She loves him for who he is.

It's the hospital where the Major General finds her. Riza is still in her ward, but is ready to leave. The large gash at her neck has been stitched, and a bandage is neatly settled over the injury. She will heal in no time. Riza nearly salutes at the Major General's presence, but remembers their previous encounter. She drops her hand, but places her full attention on the other woman.

There are no commands. No arguments. No disagreements to be shared.

The Major General has received her own wounds, but has brushed them off as nothing. Her arm is no longer in a sling, but the doctors have insisted she wear a cast for a couple of weeks. There are several ugly cuts on her face, and Riza doesn't want to entertain the possibility the Major General may have more severe wounds beneath her uniform.

For some reason, it hurts –– the fact the Major General has suffered _hurts_ Riza.

'I hope you are well, Hawkeye. I've just been to check on Mustang, and I'm pleased his sight will be restored by the Philosopher's Stone. A gift put to good use, I'd say.'

'Thank you,' Riza breathes. 'I'm glad you think so.' Out of nervous habit, she pulls at her sleeve. 'How are you?'

'Fine.' Of course, the Major General does not delve into what is personal. She pushes the subject aside. 'I heard about your incident underground.' Her eyes hover at Riza's wound, then back at her face. 'I'm pleased you're okay.'

'I have Princess Xiao Mei to thank for that.' Riza smiles a little. She sighs. 'I'm pleased you're okay too.'

'Major Miles is very inspired by Mustang's plans to restore Ishval. Funnily enough, I may have lost my partner because of that bastard.' The Major General chuckles. 'You must keep those two gentlemen in line, Hawkeye. Not that you'll have any trouble with that.'

'Will Major Miles not return to Briggs with you?'

The Major General steps further into the room until they are at arm's length. Riza is startled to discover they are roughly the same height. She knew the Major General wasn't tall, but certainly never thought of her as _petite_. How she carries her authority, her skill, her might and her glamour –– why, she's a giant compared to everybody else. Riza is in awe at her.

Here she is. Olivier Armstrong. Bruised, torn and alive.

A warrior, a knight, a soldier.

Somebody's daughter. Somebody's child.

Human.

'There won't be much point. He and Mustang need to start work on their plans for Ishval, and I cannot delay Miles by sending him to the North. He'll be fine here, under Mustang's command. I will return to the Fort with my other men. Those who survived.'

'We wouldn't have won this war without you, ma'am.'

'No, but we wouldn't have won _at all_ if we didn't join forces. You are also to credit, Lieutenant Hawkeye. I'll ensure you are promoted as soon as possible if Mustang forgets. It's the least I can do.'

Riza catches her breath. 'Thank you.'

'First, though, I must return to the Fort. There are widows who are expecting news.'

A sharp silence hovers between them. Riza looks at her, and she's astonished to have forgotten. The amount of brave men who died due to Father, the Homunculi. The amount of men Olivier lost because she gave the wrong orders.

It's all on her. Everything.

And she has no choice but to take the blame. She is guilty.

'I'm sorry.' Riza nearly winces. 'And–– I'm sorry about your Captain. Was his name Buccaneer?'

Olivier doesn't answer. 'They died fighting. Whatever else happened is irrelevant.'

'You did the best you could.'

'I know.' Olivier clenches her jaw, and averts her gaze. 'It wasn't good enough, though.'

'No one could have done it better than you.'

Olivier finds her comment amusing. She offers a small smile, almost twisted, and shakes her head lightly. 'We are soldiers, Hawkeye. Our fate is sealed. We die.'

Riza says nothing. She watches her, almost expectantly.

'We won. That's all that matters.'

Such a swift, blunt acceptance. Riza struggles to believe her.

It's _not_ all that matters.

They won, yes, but at what cost? Olivier lost a friend, and she lost countless men too. She nearly died herself. As for Riza? She nearly lost her dearest ally. Heck, she _did_ die! Both women have been traumatised and no one is here to pat them on the shoulder for their bravery. They are _just_ women. That's all society sees them as, and Riza is enraged.

How can Olivier accept what has happened and move on?

Or is Riza too sensitive? Too inexperienced? Too young?

... or has Olivier's shell hardened so much she can no longer _feel_?

'Maybe.'

She reaches over to hold Olivier's collar, and kisses her. Olivier's lips are soft, and it feels good to kiss them. She smells of blood. She smells of blood, the musk which has attached to her old uniform, of gunpowder and the heart of battle. Riza presses against her body. Kisses her lips once more, and doesn't dare move her hand from her collar. She has her there, she has her, and she desperately kisses away every scar, every ghost which will haunt her forever, every disapproving look.

Every beating.

She kisses her until Olivier pulls away.

The storm in her eyes has disappeared entirely. All Riza sees is a child, a lady of innocence, just doing what is best.

Just a _good_ person.

'Farewell, Hawkeye.'

Just like that, there is a storm in her eyes, and her expression returns to its stoic mask. She holds Riza's gaze momentarily, and then turns to leave the ward. A warmth follows after her, and she's gone.

Riza curls her arms around herself and has to smile.

_Farewell for now, General._

**.**

**.**

**.**


End file.
